How California Has Revived Its Groundfish Fisheries

How Smart Policy and Collaboration Brought Groundfish Back From the Brink

Vermillion Rockfish scientific illustration

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Recently, I wrote a more personal essay than I usually would, one in which I reflected on the state of overfishing globally and the broader exploitation of our oceans.I hoped to draw attention to the new National Geographic documentary Oceans, featuring David Attenborough, which paints a broad and dire picture of the heath of the oceans and global fisheries…and it didn’t even cover deep sea mining which is a whole other megillah.

I’ve been following ocean conservation issues for decades, I’ve done numerous stories on the subject for major publications, and I’m deeply aware of the many threats facing the sea. These challenges extend to human society, too. Climate change, pollution, political instability, and species loss are just a few of the crises that fill our doom-scrolling feeds every day.

But not everything is lost.

Vermilion rockfish. (Photo: Robert Lee/NOAA)

Despite the scale of these problems, there are reasons for hope. Around the world, we are beginning to better manage some of our natural resources. There is growing awareness about how to extract from the planet in ways that do not destroy it. Slowly, we are learning how to sustain a growing, hungry population without collapsing the ecosystems we rely on. At least, that’s the hope. If you look around a bit, there are a few positive signs. I cited California’s Marine Protected Area program, but there are others.

Another particularly hopeful development is unfolding just off the coast of California.

The story of groundfish in California and the West Coast is one of collapse, struggle, rebirth, as well as evolving policy. Following passage of the Magnuson-Stevens Fishery Conservation and Management Act in 1976, which was supposed to help the fishery by banning foreign commercial fishing, between 1976 and 1979, the West Coast groundfish fleet tripled in size, growing from about 300 to nearly 1,000 vessels. New technologies made those boats far more effective. By the mid-1980s, about half the fleet could electronically track their fishing paths and return to the same productive grounds again and again. Sophisticated fishfinders like the “Chromascope” gave vessels an unprecedented edge.

A fishermen tending a groundfish trawl net off the coast of Oregon in 2019. (Photo: John Rae/NOAA)

Groundfish catch soared. In 1976, domestic harvests (excluding Pacific whiting) totaled around 57,000 tons. By 1982, that number had more than doubled to 119,000 tons. Rockfish, barely counted in the earlier fishery, made up more than 40,000 tons of the catch by that year alone.

But the science hadn’t caught up.

Fishery managers at the time didn’t fully understand how slowly groundfish grow, how long they live, or how vulnerable they are to overfishing. As a result, catch limits were set too high. The boom quickly gave way to collapse.

In the late 1990s and early 2000s, rockfish, bocaccio, Pacific ocean perch and other deep‑dwelling species teetered on collapse. Overfishing, excessive trawling, and habitat damage from bottom nets stripped populations across hundreds of miles of West Coast shelf. Regulators sounded the alarm and declared fishery disasters.

Sea bass in a California kelp forest (Photo: Erik Olsen)

Kenneth Weiss wrote in the Los Angeles Times, “Behind the sweeping action is a reluctant realization that the vast ocean has limits and cannot, as was long believed, provide an inexhaustible supply of fish.” Ya think?

To halt the decline, Congress and managers took bold, controversial steps. In 2003 a $46 million vessel‐buyback reduced the commercial trawl fleet by one‑third; by 2011 only about 108 vessels remained. That same year, the Pacific Fishery Management Council launched the groundbreaking Trawl Catch Share Program: individual fishing quotas based on historical catch and mandatory onboard observers. Within a year, discard rates plummeted from roughly 25 percent to below 5 percent.

In fact, California law explicitly prohibits bottom trawling in its state waters except under very limited conditions. Fish and Game Code § 8841 makes bottom trawling unlawful in state ocean waters unless a state commission determines that it is sustainable and low-impact. According to NOAA, commercial bottom trawling is only permitted within the California Halibut Trawl Grounds (CHTG), a small coastal zone from roughly 1 to 3 nautical miles offshore between Point Arguello and Point Mugu.

Santa Cruz Island in California’s Channel Islands (Photo: Erik Olsen)

There are gear restrictions, including bans on roller gear larger than eight inches and a requirement for bycatch reduction devices in shrimp and prawn trawl fisheries. Bycatch is nothing but pure waste, bordering on evil, and reducing it or stopping altogether should be a goal. The state also pushes more sustainable gear types and has phased out new permits for trawlers.

At the same time, an extensive system of area closures was put in place. As the documentary points out, if you protect a habitat, it can recover, and we’ve seen that in places like the Channel Islands. Since the early 2000s, Rockfish Conservation Areas and Cowcod Conservation Areas have helped protect critical habitat. Then, in 2020, new federal rules expanded essential fish habitat protections, closing nearly 90 percent of the seafloor off California, Oregon, and Washington to bottom trawling.

Fast forward: these measures have worked! By the mid‑2010s, most of the over‑90 managed groundfish stocks were recovering or rebuilt, some years ahead of earlier projections. Pacific ocean perch, for instance, had been declared rebuilt in 2017 after 17 years under rebuilding plans. The fishery earned sustainability certification from the Marine Stewardship Council in 2014. Today, only yelloweye rockfish remains overfished, with rebuilding projected by 2029.

According to John Field, who leads the Fisheries and Ecosystem Oceanography Team at NOAA’s Southwest Fisheries Science Center, this turnaround didn’t happen by accident. “The fleet, the scientists, the managers, and everyone else saw there was a serious problem, and worked together to make difficult choices and rebuild populations,” Field told California Curated. “The solution required restructuring the fishery to conserve the species, with many tough years for the fleet. Although the groundfish fishery still faces many challenges, most populations are thriving, market demand is recovering, and there is more domestic seafood on American dinner plates.”

Equipment and methods have evolved. Vessels switched from race‑to‑fish trawls to quota‑based systems, often fishing more selectively using non‑trawl fixed gear, longline, pots, hook‑and‑line for sablefish and flatfish. Electronic monitoring and observer programs help track catches closely (you gotta have enforcement).

Not all this has been smooth sailing. The shift to quotas and catch shares was controversial: many fishermen struggled with limited quotas, economic hardship, and uncertainty. Communities dependent on processors shrank as processors closed or consolidated. Some fishermen under‑caught allowable species to avoid hitting rockfish caps. Environmental groups have cautiously welcomed reopenings, but some expressed concerns that habitat recovery might still be fragile.

A ranger patrol boat off the coast of the Channel Islands in California (Photo: Erik Olsen)

So, looking back (and forward): policies over the past two decades, from trawl‐fleet reduction, gear rules, catch shares, quotas, habitat closures and strict rebuilding plans, not to mention MPAs, have turned the tide. Stocks are rebounding, many fisheries are sustainable, and management of the system is reviewed and changed if needed through amendments every two years. Of course, climate change and warming seas could render all this moot, so there’s still an element of keeping ones fingers crossed as we move forward.

This kind of drastic change takes time. And courage. And persistence. The long arc of recovery shows how science‑based regulation can bring back health to ocean ecosystems, and opportunity to coastal communities. Much of this work happens out of sight, in deep water and policy meetings alike, but its impact reaches every one of us: on our plates, in our economies, and in the resilience of the planet we all share.

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The Remarkable Revival of the Giant Sea Bass in California: Catalina Island’s Growing Giants

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If you’ve ever dived off Casino Point in Catalina, it’s possible you have encountered one of the most magnificent fish ever to ply the cold waters of California. The Giant Sea Bass, also known as Stereolepis gigas, has long been a majestic part of California’s coastal ecosystems. This behemoth of a fish can grow up to nearly 7 and a half feet long, weighing a whopping 560 pounds, and can live to the age of 75. These gigantic, slow-moving sea creatures were once a common sight in the coastal waters of Southern California, particularly around Catalina Island. However, overfishing in the 20th century dramatically reduced their populations to critically low levels. Now, thanks to conservation efforts, these gentle giants are making a triumphant, albeit precarious, return. This is their story of recovery and resilience.

Giant Sea Bass weighing over 400 pounds caught at Catalina in 1906

The plight of the Giant Sea Bass is a familiar story in the annals of marine conservation. Abundant in the early 1900s, they were targeted by both commercial and recreational fishers. Their large size and slow-moving nature made them an easy and attractive target. Overfishing led to a sharp decline in their numbers. By the 1970s, sightings had become rare, sparking concerns about the species’ survival.

However, the Giant Sea Bass was not ready to fade away into history. The California Department of Fish and Wildlife stepped in during the 1980s, implementing measures to protect the species. A ban was placed on commercial and recreational fishing, and a concerted effort was made to restore their habitat around the Southern California coast, especially around Catalina Island.

If you are a diver, Catalina Island is a hotspot to see Giant Sea Bass. (Erik Olsen)

The breeding population of giant sea bass — which is listed as critically endangered by the International Union for Conservation of Nature — is believed to be only about 500 individuals. But since the ban on fishing and the launch of habitat restoration projects, the Giant Sea Bass has been on a steady journey towards recovery. Research groups and marine scientists have been monitoring their numbers around Catalina Island, a critical habitat for the species. Much of the work has been done at the Wrigley Marine Science Center (WMSC), the USC Wrigley Institute for Environmental Studies’ satellite campus on Santa Catalina Island. They’ve been using a variety of methods, including underwater surveys and remotely operated vehicles (ROVs), to track the population.

Their work has yielded promising results. The number of Giant Sea Bass sightings has been steadily increasing over the years. Juvenile Giant Sea Bass have also been spotted, a positive sign that the species is breeding successfully. These observations suggest that their populations are recovering, albeit slowly.

In 2019 California State University, Northridge (CSUN), the Aquarium of the Pacific, and Cabrillo Marine Aquarium announced a successful joint effort involving raising and releasing juvenile giant sea bass into the ocean. For this project, CSUN shared giant sea bass eggs in an attempt to produce offspring. Three juveniles were raised at the Aquarium of the Pacific, and the Cabrillo Marine Aquarium successfully reared hundreds of baby giant sea bass babies from these eggs. In March 2020, 200 baby giant sea bass were released into the murky waters of Santa Monica Bay.

Catalina Island, a jewel in Southern California’s marine landscape, is another big part of this conservation success. The island’s surrounding waters offer the perfect habitat for the Giant Sea Bass, with its ample kelp forests and rocky reefs, not to mention the ocean tends to be much cleaner around Catalina than along the mainland coast. The island’s commitment to marine conservation, exemplified by the Catalina Island Conservancy and its partners, has provided the ideal conditions for the species to rebound.

In addition to the protective regulations, the Island’s community has embraced their role as stewards of their marine environment. Local scuba divers often act as citizen scientists, providing valuable data through sightings and photographs of the Giant Sea Bass. We at California Curated have seen several of them while diving, gaping in awe as they hover like zeppelins in the kelp beds of Casino Point.

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Researchers who have been studying large fish in Southern California for decades say persistence is key to successful conservation efforts for giant sea bass. Although their numbers have increased, they are only about 20% of what’s needed for long-term survival. Researchers understands fishers’ frustrations but believe the fishing ban must remain for 20-30 more years to prevent repeating past overfishing. Since giant sea bass take 11-13 years to reach maturity, their recovery is slow, and even a few boats could severely impact the current population.

The return of the Giant Sea Bass is a beacon of hope, reminding us of the resilience of nature when given a chance to recover. But the journey is far from over. While their numbers are increasing, the Giant Sea Bass still faces threats, including pollution, habitat degradation, and the looming challenges of climate change.

The Giant Sea Bass at the California Academy of Sciences.

Conservationists argue that the Giant Sea Bass’s recovery illustrates the importance of a multi-faceted approach to marine conservation. Protective legislation, habitat restoration, scientific research, and community engagement all played critical roles in this success story.

Although the story is far from over and recovery is incomplete, the story of the Giant Sea Bass stands as a testament to the impact of conservation, of thinking hard and acting on the protection of species and fragile environments. Continued research, monitoring, and community engagement will be essential to ensure the long-term survival of the giant sea bass. Their resurgence offers a valuable opportunity to learn from our past mistakes and work together to ensure a brighter future for these gentle giants and the marine ecosystems they call home.

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Through the Looking Glass Head: The Enigmatic World of the Barreleye Fish

The barreleye (*Macropinna microstoma*)
(Courtesy: Monterey Bay Aquarium Research Institute MBARI)

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Off the coast of Monterey, California, researchers captured rare footage of one of the deep sea’s strangest residents: the Barreleye fish. With a see-through head and upward-facing, tube-shaped eyes, it looks like something dreamt up for a sci-fi film. Officially called Macropinna microstoma, this bizarre little fish is a real reminder of how much mystery still lies beneath the surface of the ocean and how otherworldly life can get down there.

First described in 1939, the fish astonished scientists who were stunned by its unique optical anatomy. The barreleye is found in the Pacific Ocean, with sightings ranging from the coasts of California, particularly around Monterey Canyon, to the mid-Pacific near Hawaii. Most commonly, it resides between 400 to 2,500 feet below the surface, a region known as the mesopelagic or “twilight” zone. At these depths, little light penetrates, making the area a seemingly inhospitable place for most life forms. But the Barreleye fish thrives here, adapting to its surroundings in the most bizarre ways.

Its most distinctive features, and the ones that give it its name, are its transparent head and barrel-shaped eyes that are usually directed upwards. These eyes are extremely sensitive to light, which is a scarce commodity where it lives. Interestingly, the eyes are encased in a dome-shaped, transparent head. This clear cranium allows the fish to capture as much light as possible, increasing its visual field. The upward-facing eyes allow the Barreleye fish to see silhouettes of prey or predators against the faint light filtering down from the surface. It’s like a built-in periscope for scanning the world above, allowing it to spot the bioluminescent glow of jellies or small fish that meander above it.

In 2009, researchers at the Monterey Bay Aquarium Research Institute elucidated a longstanding mystery surrounding the barreleye. For many years, marine biologists were under the impression that these specialized eyes were immobile and only provided the fish with a limited, tunnel-vision perspective, focused solely on the waters above its transparent head. Such a constraint would significantly limit the fish’s situational awareness, making it highly dependent on what occurs directly above it for both prey detection and predator evasion.

However, a groundbreaking paper by researchers Bruce Robison and Kim Reisenbichler overturned this conventional wisdom. Their findings reveal that the eyes of the barreleye fish are not static but can actually rotate within a transparent protective shield that envelops the fish’s head. This adaptation enables the fish not only to look upwards to identify potential prey but also to focus forward, thereby expanding its field of vision and facilitating more effective foraging.

A remotely operated vehicle or ROV named Doc Ricketts (MBARI)

Robison and Reisenbichler conducted their research using footage obtained from the Monterey Bay Aquarium Research Institute’s remotely operated vehicles (ROVs) to investigate the barreleye fish in the deep-sea regions adjacent to Central California. Situated at depths ranging from 600 to 800 meters (approximately 2,000 to 2,600 feet) beneath the ocean’s surface, the ROVs’ cameras typically captured images of these fish in a state of immobility, floating like zeppelins with their eyes radiating an intense green hue due to the illumination provided by the ROV’s powerful lighting system. The remotely captured video data also divulged a hitherto undocumented anatomical feature—namely, that the eyes of the barreleye fish are encased in a transparent, fluid-filled protective shield that encompasses the upper region of the fish’s cranial structure.

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The implications of this discovery extend beyond mere academic curiosity. Understanding the unique visual system of the barreleye fish provides crucial insights into the mechanisms of evolutionary adaptation. It showcases how even seemingly minor anatomical modifications can result in significant survival advantages in the highly competitive and challenging marine environment. Moreover, it challenges our existing perceptions and encourages scientists to revisit and reevaluate other long-standing assumptions in marine biology.

The Barreleye isn’t just a pair of eyes swimming around in the ocean, though. It has a suite of other adaptations to its challenging environment. For instance, it has large, flat fins that let it remain almost motionless in the water, conserving energy in an environment where every calorie counts. Also, it’s got a small mouth. This mouth is adapted to consume tiny organisms, like zooplankton, that are abundant in the deep ocean. So while the Barreleye may not be the apex predator down there, it has carved out its own unique niche.

Monterey Bay Aquarium Research Institute (MBARI) in Moss Landing, California

The fish also has what are called “lateral line canals” that are filled with fluid and are sensitive to changes in pressure. This allows the Barreleye to detect movement in the water, effectively giving it a “sixth sense” to sense prey or predators around it. Imagine you’re trying to navigate a pitch-black room—every little bit of extra information helps.

Despite its enigmatic nature, we know relatively little about its breeding habits, lifespan, or social interactions. Part of the reason is the difficulty in studying a creature that lives in such an extreme environment. Researchers have managed to capture only a few specimens, and observations in their natural habitat are relatively scarce.

While the Barreleye fish might look like a figment of a wild imagination, it’s very much a real creature, adeptly adapted to its harsh surroundings. It represents the myriad ways life can evolve to meet the unique challenges of extreme environments. As we continue to explore the depths of our oceans, who knows what other fantastical creatures we might find? That said, the Barreleye fish remains one of the most compelling arguments for the strange and wondrous biodiversity hidden in the ocean’s twilight zone, a testament to the endless creativity of evolution.

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The Garibaldi’s Dance of Color and Character in California’s Coastal Ballet

Underwater photos of California’s coast featured in books and magazines almost always showcase a certain fish: the garibaldi. Within the underwater kaleidoscope of California’s coastal waters, the Garibaldi fish stands out with its fiery orange hue. The garibaldi, a member of the damselfish family, is the California State marine fish, and its possession is illegal.

The fish is likely named after the 19th-century Italian revolutionary Giuseppe Garibaldi, whose army wore bright red shirts, or after the “garibaldi”, a woman’s red blouse worn in the 1890’s.

Biologically speaking, the Garibaldi fish owe their orange coloring mainly to pigments called carotenoids. These carotenoids are pretty interesting; you’ll find them in many fruits and vegetables, like carrots, for example, where they give off that familiar orange glow. Garibaldi eat a diet rich in crustaceans, such as crabs and shrimps, which are packed with these pigments. When the fish ingest them, the carotenoids are absorbed and deposited into the skin tissues.

Carotenoids can also act as antioxidants, which means they might even play a role in protecting the fish’s cells from damage. This is a bit of a two-for-one deal: not only do they get to look good, but they also get some potential health benefits as well.

Interestingly, there’s a bit of a territorial aspect to the bright orange coloration. Garibaldi fish are known to be quite territorial, and the males are especially flashy. They use their bright coloration to ward off rivals and also to attract mates.

The color isn’t just a superficial beauty mark; it plays a significant role in the fish’s survival and reproductive strategies. The orange hue signals strength, dominance, and overall fitness. It’s like a badge of honor they wear to proclaim, “Look at me, I’m strong, healthy, and in charge here!”

The Garibaldi is more than just a pretty face in the crowd. This fish, found from Monterey Bay down to Baja California, displays behaviors and characteristics that make it a subject of intrigue for marine biologists and diving enthusiasts alike.

One of the best places to see Garibaldi if you are a diver or enjoy snorkeling is off the coast of Catalina Island, about 20 miles from Long Beach. One particularly popular spot is Casino Point in the city of Avalon on the island.

Known for being highly territorial, the male Garibaldi is an underwater homeowner, meticulously crafting nests from red algae during mating season. This homemaking process is not just about building; it’s about showmanship. The males showcase their algae-laden nests to prospective females in an underwater dance, swimming around their creation with pride, hoping to entice the females to lay their eggs there.

A California Garibaldi protecting its nest.

But the courtship doesn’t end with the dance. Once the female is wooed and the eggs are laid, the male Garibaldi takes on the role of a nurturing parent. He stands guard over the eggs, fanning them with his pectoral fins to ensure they are well-oxygenated. He even goes to the extent of confronting divers or other fish that venture too close to his precious brood.

The Garibaldi’s territorial nature also extends to a curious interaction with humans. Despite their fierceness in protecting their domain, these fish are known to approach divers, examining them with an inquisitive gaze. This friendliness, coupled with their radiant color, makes them a favorite subject among underwater photographers.

“The only thing that seems to affect their fearless behavior is the color of the animal that’s approaching them,” said Cabrillo Marine Aquarium (CMA) Research Curator Dr. Kiersten Darrow. “They will attack everybody else, but if they see that it’s a garibaldi fish of a certain type then they will back away.”

Perhaps even more fascinating is the Garibaldi’s voice – a distinctive thumping sound that some divers have reported hearing. Though the exact reason for this sound is not entirely understood, it’s believed to be related to their territorial behavior, adding another layer to the mystique of this remarkable fish.

Beyond its engaging behaviors, the Garibaldi’s story carries a note of triumph in conservation. Its popularity led to overfishing in the past, which spurred protective measures. Today, the Garibaldi enjoys protected status in California waters, safeguarding it from harm and allowing it to thrive.

A testament to resilience, the Garibaldi can live for over 20 years, growing slowly and reaching full maturity at about six years of age. This longevity, coupled with its unique characteristics, makes it a symbol of the diverse and vibrant marine life that graces California’s coastline.

Catalina Island and Casino Point (Erik Olsen)

In the world of marine biology, where hidden wonders often lie beneath the waves, the Garibaldi emerges as a charismatic star. With its bold color, intricate courtship rituals, protective parenting, and friendly curiosity, it captures the imagination, not just as a beautiful spectacle but as a complex character in the grand tapestry of ocean life. Whether seen during a dive or behind the glass of an aquarium, the Garibaldi remains a fascinating glimpse into the rich and often surprising world beneath the sea.

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The Man Who Saved the Owens Pupfish

51 years ago today a man named Edwin Philip Pister rescued an entire species from extinction.

Less than 2.5 inches in length, the Owens pupfish is a silvery-blue fish in the family Cyprinodontidae. Endemic to California’s Owens Valley, 200 miles north of Los Angeles, the fish has lived on the planet since the Pleistocene, becoming a new species when its habitat was divided by changing climatic conditions, 60,000 years ago.

For thousands of years, the Owens Valley was largely filled with water, crystal-clear snowmelt that still streams off the jagged, precipitous slab faces of the Sierra Nevada mountains. Pupfish were common, with nine species populating various lakes and streams from Death Valley to an ara just south of Mammoth Lakes. The Paiute people scooped them out of the water and dried them for the winter.

In the late 19th century, Los Angeles was a rapidly growing young metropolis, still in throes of growing pains that would last decades. While considered an ugly younger sibling to the city of San Francisco, Los Angeles had the appeal of near year-round sunshine and sandy beaches whose beauty that rivaled those of the French Riviera.

Owens pupfish (California Department of Fish and Wildlife)

But by the late 1900s, the city began outgrowing its water supply. Fred Eaton, mayor of Los Angeles, and his water czar, William Mulholland, hatched a plan to build an aqueduct from Owens Valley to Los Angeles. Most Californians know the story. Through a series of shady deals, Mulholland and Eaton managed to get control of the water in the Owens Valley and, in 1913, the aqueduct was finished. It was great news for the new city, but terrible news for many of the creatures (not to mention the farmers) who depended on the water flowing into and from the Owens Lake to survive.

So named because they exhibit playful, puppy-like behavior, the Owens pupfish rapidly began to disappear. Pupfish are well-known among scientists for being able to live in extreme and isolated situations. They can tolerate high levels of salinity. Some live in water that exceeds 100° Fahrenheit, and they can even tolerate up to 113° degrees for short periods. They are also known to survive in near-freezing temperatures common in the lower desert.

Owens River in the Eastern Sierra (Erik Olsen)

One of those animals is the Owens pupfish.

But hot or cold are one thing. The disappearance of water altogether is another.

As California has developed, and as climate change has caused temperatures to rise, thus increasing evaporation, all of California’s pupfish populations have come under stress. Add to these conditions, the early 20th-century introduction by the California Department of Fish and Wildlife of exotic species like largemouth bass and rainbow trout to lakes and streams in the eastern Sierras, and you get a recipe for disaster. And disaster is exactly what happened.

Several species of pupfish in the state have been put on the endangered species list. Several species, including the Owens pupfish, the Death Valley Pupfish and the Devils Hole pupfish are some of the rarest species of fish on the planet. The Devils Hole pupfish recently played the lead role in a recent story about a man who accidentally killed one of the fish during a drunken spree. According to news stories, he stomped on the fish when he tried to swim in a fenced-off pool in Death Valley National Park. He went to jail.

The remains of the Owens River flowing through Owens Valley in California. Credit: Erik Olsen

The impact on the Owens pupfish habitat was so severe that in 1948, just after it was scientifically described, it was declared extinct.

That is, until one day in 1964, when researchers discovered a remnant population of Owens pupfish in a desert marshland called Fish Slough, a few miles from Bishop, California. Wildlife officials immediately began a rescue mission to save the fish and reintroduce them into what were considered suitable habitats. Many were not, and by the late 1960s, the only remaining population of Owens pupfish, about 800 individuals, barely hung on in a “room-sized” pond near Bishop.

On August 18, 1969, a series of heavy rains caused foliage to grow and clog the inflow of water into the small pool. It happened so quickly, that when scientists learned of the problem, they realized they had just hours to save the fish from extinction.

Among the scientists who came to the rescue that day was a stocky, irascible 40-year-old fish biologist named Phil Pister. Pister had worked for the California Department of Fish and Game (now the California Department of Fish and Wildlife) most of his career. An ardent acolyte of Aldo Leopold, regarded as one of the fathers of American conservation, Pister valued nature on par, or even above, human needs. As the Los Angeles Times put it in a 1990 obituary, “The prospect of Pister off the leash was fearsome.”

“I was born on January 15, 1929, the same day as Martin Luther King—perhaps this was a good day for rebels,” he once said.

Pister had few friends among his fellow scientists. Known for being argumentative, disagreeable, and wildly passionate about the protection of California’s abundant, but diminishing, natural resources, Pister realized that immediate action was required to prevent the permanent loss of the Owens pupfish. He rallied several of his underlings and rushed to the disappearing pool with buckets, nets, and aerators.

Within a few hours, the small team was able to capture the entire remaining population of Owens pupfish in two buckets, transporting them to a nearby wetland. However, as Pister himself recalls in an article for Natural History Magazine:

“In our haste to rescue the fish, we had unwisely placed the cages in eddies away from the influence of the main current. Reduced water velocity and accompanying low dissolved oxygen were rapidly taking their toll.”

Los Angeles Aqueduct. Credit: Erik Olsen

As noted earlier, pupfish are amazingly tolerant of extreme conditions, but like many species, they can also be fragile, and within a short amount of time, many of the pupfish Pister had rescued were dying, floating belly up in the cages. Pister realized immediate action was required, lest the species disappear from the planet forever. Working alone, he managed to net the remaining live fish into the buckets and then carefully carried them by foot across an expanse of marsh. “I realized that I literally held within my hands the existence of an entire vertebrate species,” he wrote.

Pister managed to get the fish into cool, moving water where the fish could breathe and move about. He says about half the the population survived, but that was enough.

Today, the Owens pupfish remains in serious danger of extinction. On several occasions over the last few decades, the Owens pupfish have suffered losses by largemouth bass that find their way into the pupfish’s refuges, likely due to illegal releases by anglers. In 2009, the US Fish and Wildlife Service estimated that five populations totaling somewhere between 1,500 and 20,000 Owens pupfish live in various springs, marshes, and sloughs in the Owens Valley, where they are federally protected.

by Erik Olsen

Additional material:

Oral history video featuring Phil Pister recounting his career and that fateful day.

Read previous articles in the California Science Weekly.

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